


A Glass All Full

by SomeCereals



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Art Block, Choices, Crosswinds, Fantasy, Gen, Granblue Tarot Project, Imagination, Oops submitting this late, Seven of Cups, Temptation, Wishful Thinking, diversionary tactics, illusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 04:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16695643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeCereals/pseuds/SomeCereals
Summary: Lunalu receives a commission from a big name royal. As luck would have it, that's when she gets struck with a bad case of art block.





	A Glass All Full

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece for Crosswinds: A Granblue Fantasy Tarot Project. As the tags imply, I was assigned Lunalu for Seven of Cups. Unfortunately, I missed my chance to post this while preorders were still open since I got caught up with school and didn't have time to figure out how uploading writing to AO3 worked...I hope you enjoy anyway! ;w;

The Grancypher received a great deal of mail simply due to the bulk of its crew. Packages and letters of various shapes and sizes arrived from all corners of the skydom, with senders mostly from close loved ones and strangers requesting the captain’s aid. Imagine Lunalu’s surprise when an envelope addressed to _her_ appeared out of thin air.

Tearing off the wax seal and shaking out the contents did not yield news of Prince Popol’s next installment as she had hoped. Instead, what slid out was a single sheet of paper, a message scrawled along its face in neat script.

_To the famed artist Lunalu,_

_I have heard a great deal of praise for your work among my subjects. Many a monster hunter and scholar have found your drawings useful in their respective endeavors. Even Siegfried has spoken highly of your talents._

_When the next full moon arrives, I plan to host a gala in honor of Feendrache’s liberation. I implore you for the commission of a piece to unveil at this event, a piece worthy of the spirit of celebration._

_-King Carl of Feendrache_

Lunalu’s grip on the letter tightened as she finished reading, crinkling the pristine paper. Already was the request making her head spin, her fingers quiver, her heart hammer like a school girl in the throes of love.

This was surely the chance of a lifetime.

* * *

Blank.

Her mind was completely blank.

Lunalu stared helplessly at the fresh sheet of paper before her. It had been but a few days since locking herself up in her room for the project, yet Lunalu had nothing to show for it, save for the crumpled drafts littering the floor around her work desk.

 _Celebration?_ How was she to illustrate its form if the concept was without one? It was not as though _celebration_ had the chiseled figure of a knight, or even the perilous jaws of a beast. The only images that came to mind were birthday parties and other holiday gatherings, but those didn’t seem to fit the gradiosity of an anniversary. Would it be too predictable if she defaulted to a portrait of Feendrache’s monarch?

She furiously shook her head, chasing off the notion.

_No, no. Get a hold of yourself, Lunalu. You can’t disappoint them with this._

She willed herself to bring pencil to paper, but dared not to make a single stroke.

“Nngh, how frustrating!” Lunalu cried, burying her head in her hands. Of all the times to get art block, why _now_?

At that moment, the Harvin’s stomach groaned, voicing another complaint. Lunalu cursed under her breath, bringing a hand to her belly to quell its protests. She needed to make more progress on the commission first, she just _had_ to.

_Knock knock._

Lunalu shot an annoyed glance at the door. _Another distraction,_ she figured.

“Who is it? What do you need from me?” She called out, eager to shoo off her visitor.

“Korwa,” came the reply, followed by, “the chef sends his regards--and a hot meal.”

Lunalu immediately perked up at the promise of food. Perhaps she would not have to leave her room to eat after all; she could easily hover over her desk with a pencil in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Coming!” Lunalu cracked her door open, letting a sliver of light into her dreary quarters. Her appearance must have been quite haggard, for she saw Korwa--typically confident and poised--fumble, nearly spilling food on herself.

Lunalu hadn’t bothered looking into a mirror in recent times, but could only imagine that she resembled a zombie. Stress, solitude, and sleepless nights were potent ingredients for dark circles and pallid, limp skin.

“You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in days,” the Erune remarked, her voice tinged with concern.

“That’s because I haven’t. I’ve been far too busy,” Lunalu confessed, her gaze training on what sat upon Korwa’s tray: a simple salad, a hunk of bread, and a steaming bowl of stew. She was salivating already. “I shall accept the food. You have my thanks for delivering it.”

“Now wait just a minute.” Korwa narrowed her eyes, keeping the meal out of Lunalu’s reach. Given the drastic height difference between the two, this was easily done. “What’s gotten you so preoccupied that you can’t leave your room? The captain, Siegfried, Lyria...the whole Grancypher is worried sick about you.”

“I-It’s nothing!” Lunalu insisted, only making Korwa more suspicious.

The fashion designer craned her head, peering into Lunalu’s room, much to her chagrin.

“So all the papers I see scattered around are nothing?” Korwa pointed out, arching her silver eyebrows.

“Aghh! N-No, don’t look!!” Lunalu pleaded--but it was in vain, for Korwa easily loomed over the short stature of a Harvin, giving her a perfect view of the messy work space.

“Too late,” Korwa sighed, crushing what little hope Lunalu had that maybe, just maybe, Korwa would turn a blind eye. “Now, mind telling me what this is all about?”

Lunalu could feel her entire face going bright red with shame. There was no way she could cover it up. “O-Okay, fine! I...I’m having some trouble working on something, that’s all!”

Korwa waved a gloved hand.

“Say no more. Show me what you’ve got.”

* * *

“Hmm, I see,” Korwa mused aloud. She perched upon Lunalu’s cot, running her eyes over the various rough sketches in hand. “This is an amazing opportunity for you, but none of these seem to be quite…right.”

“I know, I know! Gah, that’s why I’m so worried!” Lunalu groaned, planting herself back at her work desk. Though she had already snarfed down her lunch, she barely felt reenergized. “What should I draw? What if they don’t like it and it ruins my reputation? What if--”

“--they _do_ like it? What if it’s a rousing success?” Korwa interrupted, cutting off Lunalu’s pessimistic thoughts. “I’m sure you’re just going through a dry spell right now. It happens to all artists every so often. There’s no need to rush your work.”

“This is different than before--I only have so much time. The king needs it done _soon_.” Lunalu heaved a sigh, crumpling in her seat. “I just don’t know what to do. Nothing comes to mind, no matter how hard I try.”

“Perhaps you’re going about it the wrong way,” Korwa suggested, setting down the sketches, “maybe you can’t think of any ideas _because_ you’re forcing yourself to think too hard.”

“Maybe,” Lunalu mumbled with uncertainty, tapping her pencil against her chin. “From artist to artist...how would you get over a slump like this, Korwa?”

The Erune straightened at the question. “Well, first thing’s first. I’d take a short break.”

Following Korwa’s sharp gaze to the pencil still in her hand, Lunalu flushed again. She set down the writing utensil and turned to give Korwa her full attention.

“I tell myself that I’m getting caught up in the little details, and I try to think of _why_ I’m making something rather than _what_ or _who_ I’m making it for.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Ah, ah, ah! Let me finish,” Korwa requested, bringing a finger to her lips. Lunalu obliged, sinking into her seat with arms folded.

“For example, a white gown is meant to be worn--but it means so much more than just an article of clothing. After all, a wedding dress may as well be the same thing as an old rag if there is no love between two people; there would be no happy end in sight for them.

“The same thing goes for the designer--in this case, me. Will my clients really be happy with something that I didn’t put my whole heart into? Of course not! That’s why I have to consider everything that the work is and will embody, what it means to all that will see it!”

The more Korwa spoke of her craft, the more enraptured she became, her voice a crescendo of passion. It was as though she were a blank canvas herself, and zeal painted her cheeks pink with life.

A silence fell upon the room once she had finished.

“Er...did all of that make sense?” Korwa inquired, staring hesitantly at her crew mate, who was gaping and starry eyed in return.

“Did it ever!” Lunalu declared excitedly, leaping onto her feet. She moved as though a jolt of lightning ran through her veins, igniting her with newfound ardor. “I’ve got it now, Korwa--I know what will go into _celebration_!”

* * *

With the moon high above like a crystal chandelier, the festivities were in full swing. Lively music sprinkled with friendly chatter bubbled up from the ballroom. The entire premises seemed to glow with cheer--and yet Lunalu could not be happier nestled in her dark, quiet corner in the back.

A passing servant took note of her presence and approached, bending down to offer advice. “Excuse me, miss. If you’d like to witness the grand reveal, I would recommend moving to the front of the ballroom shortly.”

“No need,” Lunalu replied curtly. “I can see just fine from here.”

“If you insist. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?”

“Some juice would be lovely.”

The servant bowed, affirming the request before he vanished into a gathering crowd. At the head of the party goers was a covered easel and a rotund man in a bejeweled crown and cane. He was flanked on both sides by armed men. Lunalu caught the gaze of one of the knights in darker armor, who nodded to acknowledge her presence.

She felt like melting right on the spot, had the king not cleared his throat to snap her out of her trance. It seemed that the time had finally arrived for the big unveiling.

“A-hem! Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Feendrache...today marks the four year anniversary of our kingdom’s liberation from the clutches of the great villainess, Isabella. This was no thanks due to the valiant efforts of our own Order of the White Dragons and the Grancypher crew.”

There was a pause to allow for applause from the crowd before King Carl continued.

“A piece has been made to commemorate and honor this holiday. The artist has dubbed it _A Cause for Celebration._ Behold!”

With that, the cover was whisked away from the easel, exposing Lunalu’s work to the world. It was met with gasping opening notes, followed by a chorus of whispers.

At the focal point of the piece was a ball of light against an ever shifting sky, the hues of the nightscape, sunset, and dawn dripping into one another. A multitude of arms stretched toward the light, like the branches of a sapling reaching for the stars. There was something oddly eerie, yet hopeful, about it.

A hush fell upon the crowd when the king raised a hand.

“Though it is a shame, our guest of honor has declined to appear before us to receive praise. However, she did leave a parting message to accompany her work.

_“I could not have come as far as I have without the help of my dear friends and crew mates, just as a kingdom cannot stand without its citizens or its king."_

“ _Let us rejoice in the bonds that bring us together, the same bonds that will forge an even brighter future than ever before,_ ” Lunalu chimed in quietly, “ _that, alone, is a cause for celebration._ ”

The audience erupted into wild applause and cheers. Lunalu could barely hear the returning footsteps of the servant from before.

“Miss,” he said, presenting a glass with a flourish, “your beverage.”

“Thank you.”

The servant retreated once Lunalu had plucked the glass from his tray. She sank back into the shadows to silently admire her own work.

“My cup runneth over,” Lunalu announced, her words directed at no one in particular. She raised her glass of grape juice to Feendrache and her efforts, pantomiming a toast. “To the future, and all that it holds for us.”

The glass met her lips, and she drank heartily.


End file.
